I See It All Too Clear
by Goodbye Mr WoIf
Summary: What's happening now that Wendla and Moritz are gone? Melchior lusts and Ilse lets the world find out. Will be a few chapters! Some language/Sexual themes. R/R please! I'd love to hear the feedback.
1. Find Me

"Ilse?"

"Morit--! Oh. Melchi Gabor, it's you. Not the person I was expecting to see."

Ilse had nestled herself in the dark of the woods during mid-day. It was dreary and dark out, and the cover of the trees made for perfect shade from the constant rain. In fact, Ilse's mind had been nothing but rain recently. She felt as though she hadn't smiled in weeks, not really, anyway. And the sign of Melchior Gabor did not help. He was handsome, as usual. Dark hair was tousled messily and his shirt was untucked and dirty, as though he hadn't seen a bath in days. Usually the rugged sight of him would make any girl swoon, but not as of late. Melchior Gabor had become an outcast, no longer the hearthrob he once was.

She rose from the sight of him. Her usual wild hair was semi-tamed and pulled to the side and tied in a bow. Melchior took a step toward her and Ilse started suddenly, one arm up in defence.

"Don't you dare, Mechior Gabor."

The tone was harsh and it made Melchi pause and stare at her even stranger than he was before. The look in his eyes was wild and scary and Ilse had no choice but to stand rooted to the spot she stood in fear. Getting her senses back, Ilse turned to run into the woods, wanting to leave Melchior standing alone in the clearing.

"Ilse..Ilse, please!" Instantly, he lunged after her, closing his fingers tightly around her wrist and whipping Ilse back to face him. Melchior's lips turned in to a snarl. It was a look no one had ever seen on the usual serene face. It used to be Moritz who would pull the faces of anger and distress and get the apprehensive looks of classmates. Melchior pulled the small girl closer to his face who returned the snarling look right back.

"Let go." Ilse felt his grip loosen and she wrenched her arm from his grasp. "I have nothing to say to you. How do you lose the memory so fast?"

Her eyes searched his for an answer, a flutter of recognition, anything. Ilse stepped back, feeling suddenly confident in her control over the situation. She watched him as his face glazed over, all evidence of harshness gone as he turned and started to pace, hands held over his eyes despairingly. His stride got wilder as he paced and the young boy threw his arms up in the air. Eyes rimmed with red and mouth curled into an ugly smile, he stopped and faced Ilse again, who uncharacteristically jumped,

"Do you think I forgot, Ilse?" Melchior's voice rose, "I didn't forget, I lost her. I lost Wendla! God took her from me!"

"You don't believe in God."

"Then I took her from myself, Ilse. But now I yearn..." Melchior's voice dropped as he ambled toward her, backing her into a tree. "I yearn, Ilse. For that feeling of such pleasure, such warmth."

"You won't find that in me." She stared, voice steady, into his eyes as Melchior pressed against her forcefully.

"But I know you can. I've heard stories about you, Ilse." He ran a single finger down her cheek. "You're not the same girl I used to play Crusaders with. No, no." His eyes lazily and sickeningly ran down her body. "You've grown up, my dear Ilse. The same way Wendla did."

With his breath so close it was easy to tell he had been drinking. Probably no where near what she used to do, but drunk to the point of all cares being thrown away. Ilse's eyes dropped shut as he traced her cheek lightly with one finger, and flinched at the mention of her old friend. As suddeny as it all began, all contact was broken between them, Melchior removed his finger and took a few steps back, causing Ilse to regain her balance and open her eyes. She felt so exposed, all alone in the woods with this rebel whom she used to admire. But he was anything but admirable now. Something she had done was making him shake his head and stare at her with disbelief.

"I didn't forget Wendla, Ilse. I got over her. The same way you should with Moritz. It would do you some good, to have someone else to fawn over." Ilse opened her mouth to protest but Melchior continued his rant. "I never understood your fascination with him. So close-minded, so normal. When we were kids, Ilse, we were the ones who made up the stories. Wendla and Moritz would just play along, just follow whatever we said. Me and you, we were the creative ones, my mother would also tell me, such free spirits. She said it would get us in trouble one day. Well. Look who got in trouble. Sweet Wendla and quiet Moritz."

"If I'm not mistaken, you got into trouble too, Melchi."

Her expression was deadpan and her voice matched. She braced herself for more violent contact, but none came. Melchior just looked at her, looked past her, even. The silence was unsettingly and the air seemed to feel it. It got more difficult to breath as a few raindrops and a crack of thunder made the atmosphere heavy and saturated. For the first time in their whole encounter Melchior looked lost, afraid, and Ilse's instinct told her to comfort him, against her will. It was something she was never so good at, even for herself. But she took the few steps at him to close the distance and reached her hand out to him. Melchior took it without hesitation and held it gently, cradling her hand in his. Ilse's expression softened as his hardened, she smiled as he squeezed her hand harder and harder. Acting quickly, Melchior overtook Ilse and had her pinned to ground, both of her hands over her head, held with one strong fist. Without so much as a kick, Ilse laid there, breathing, heart racing, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving. Melchior waited for a response, a protest. None came. Nothing but silence from the girl who laid beneath him. In one swift movement he was removing his trousers and lifting her skirt. There were no words spoken, but for Ilse it got harder and harder to breath as Melchior Gabor, her longtime youth friend stared down at her with such malice and lust. She allowed her eyes to open and saw a fierce look over his face. One that Ilse was no stranger to seeing...that look was the reason she never opened her eyes.

An anger boiled up inside her and she made the noise that she had always longed to make. Ilse cried out loudly as Melchior got into a position and lowered himself onto her. With strength Ilse didn't even know she had, she kicked swiftly and directly and Melchior rolled away in pain, clutching his stomach. As quickly as she could, she stood and fixed herself.

"You little whore!" Melchior bellowed as he still sat in pain on the ground.

Ilse went to stand above his crumpled body and gave him another stiff kick, eyes now brimming with tears, body shaking with anger. Slightly losing control, she kicked at him again. Loving the feeling of the tears running down her face, the slight thud as she repeatedly dug her toes into his ribcage, and the horrible cry coming from her lips. This call was all it took, it was all she needed to be fearless. After all those years of taking it, never protesting, never telling. It was time for an end. Her wails cut out as another voice called through the trees. Ilse wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and smoothed down her hair and dress. The look of sheer anger was still played across her face as she knelt down close to Melchior's face.

"Listen, Melchi Gabor." She snapped her head up as the voice called again. "I will not be the next to suffer _anemia_." With a final parting glance, Melchior still on the ground, Ilse ran full-speed into the trees, and away. There had not even been a sign she was there.


	2. Hear Me

Out of the clearing and in view of the small German town, Ilse felt calm and safe. The horrors of the woods were left behind her, only a stain on her knee and a smear of mud on her skirt told of any undoings. However, with her reputation it was not strange to be mud-streaked here, grass-stained there, and she was never too bothered by those thoughts. Being an outcast and free-thinker took away many of her cares for what others thought. Sometimes if she was walking in the old neighborhoods, the more conservative mothers would pull their children inside for fear of the questions about why that girl was wearing men's trousers, or no stockings, or no ribbons in her hair. At the present moment, however, more alarming than her bare legs was the red around her eyes, and her tear streaked face, and hoarse voice from yelling. If this had been a few months ago, Ilse would have known exactly where to wander to for comfort. Lachnerstraße, where Moritz Stiefel lived. She would pace the streets, waiting for him to come home from school, or leave his house to go to Melchior's, or run to the store for his mother. Sometimes it would work, most of the time not, and it would be days, weeks before she would see him again.

Ilse still stood overlooking the town. For such a small place it had seen so many secrets and too much horror, the thought of it was sickening. She bit back more tears at the sound of someone approaching from behind. Hoping it was Martha or Thea, she turned with what Ilse hoped was a friendly smile. To her dismay, Hanschen Rilow approached, his usual smug grin looking no different than usual. The two had shared a drunken revelry after Moritz's death, but that was most contact they had ever really had. Hanschen had expressed interest in the alcohol he had heard of her so frequently enjoying, and Ilse was more than happy to have someone her own age to talk to. They had a single drunken kiss, and had not talked since.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Ilse." Hanschen's unnatural blonde hair and pale skin made him odd to look at, but always intriguing. "Was it you we heard yelling back there? One of your hippie, bohemian rituals, hm?" He stood awkwardly close to her side, his sleeve brushing against her bare arm, sharing in her view of the town.

"Something like that." She shifted her weight to take the constant touch away. Ilse turned to look at him. "Hello, Hanschen. I didn't know you played in the woods. How very immature of you." Ilse teased him with a grin. She knew very well Hanschen's grandest goal was to be anything but a lowly child.

The boy returned her teasing smile.

"Yes, Ernstie and I played Hide 'N Seek then made daisy chains for our hair." Hanschen ran a hand over his perfectly coifed hair, which Ilse was quite positive his mother did for him every morning. He laughed sarcastically with Ilse, who shook her head.

"Walk with me, Hanschen?"

Ilse idley dawdled down the small hill, wondering whether Hanschen had ventured his way into the clearing. He followed after her, being careful not to splash in any puddles or slip on some slick mud. Instinctively, once they had made their way down the hill, Hanschen took the lead. They walked the streets outlining the town. For a long time, neither said a word. The rainy day had caused everyone else in the town to stay inside, Hanschen and Ilse ran into no one. The silence was not uncomfortable, it was telling, if anything. Hanschen finally stopped in his tracks and swiveled to face Ilse, who was a few steps behind him, a purple wildflower in her hand. At the sudden movement, Ilse jumped, still shakey from the incident not even an hour previous. He knew. Ilse could feel it.

"So, tell me dear, why was it you were screaming back there? Ernst cried out as well, he got frightened by the wailing. It didn't at all sound like a ritual if you asked me." Hanschen questioned her, unblinking and strange in the damp daylight.

She swallowed hard, a bewildered look lingered briefly on her face. Ilse breathed and smiled, shaking her head. She playfully ran a few steps ahead of Hanschen and threw the flower at him as she passed. Expecting him to forget the question and throw the flower back at her, Ilse's stomach dropped to her knees when he didn't move a muscle. Hanschen just turned his head to watch her prance by. She stopped and held her arms out to her sides in defense.

"It was nothing."

Unconvinced, Hanschen still stood rigid as a board.

"Then, tell me Ilse, why I found Melchi Gabor bruised and bleeding in the woods?"

Ilse's head dropped to her chest, Hanschen's emotions were hard to read. She had no words to describe her feelings, her actions, what he had done to her. The anger she had before boiled up inside her and Ilse wanted to cry out again in distress, despair, but feared the noise would rouse neighbor's suspicion.

"Did he hurt you, love?"

Hanschen was rooted to his spot, but his blonde eyebrows knit together in a sense of concern for the girl who he could barely call a friend. Ilse's shoulders crumpled as she again stifled the cry. Her eyes began to fill with tears and she continued down the path they were on. Too close to town and the prying eyes and ears of the townspeople who's lives were based on the children's gossip. Ilse heard Hanchsen's footsteps behind her as tears ran down her face. She couldn't tell for sure why she was comfortable talking to Hanschen Rilow about any of this, but for the time being he was all she had. Veering off the brick path and into a wild patch of wood, Ilse came to rest on a fallen tree that made for the perfect bench. Hanschen sat next to her, knees brushing, his pants a bit dirty from the minor hike. Awkwardly, he put an arm around her shoulders.

"Tell me, Ilse."

While his voice held no emotion, he was obviously pained. Ilse rolled her head back, staring up into the trees, and beyond that, the heavens. Ilse had not gone to church in years, yet she somehow hoped Moritz could see and feel her all the way up there. She could definitely feel him. Ilse squeezed her eyes shut and brought her head back down.

"He came onto me. In the woods. Melchi has been pursuing me for weeks now, he has a hunger that no one here can feed. He lusts, Hanschen."

"Did he touch you?" Steady voice, steady posture, but Hanschen's eyes narrowed as she spoke. Ilse nodded grimly, and Hanschen rose at once.

"That rat! That vermin! You didn't want that, he should be exiled, hung!" Hanschen sweeped his arm dramatically and stared down at Ilse, who now watched him bewildered. His face now shone with anger and his voice was shaking.

"Why do you care so much Hanschen?" Ilse asked, confused as ever. Her tears had ceased and now all on her face was questioning look. Hanschen shook his head, lips pursed, and let his arm fall back to his side. He once again sat next to her, his face so close to hers that Ilse had to scoot backwards on the log.

"Why do I care, Ilse? We're one of the same. When it comes to this grand game of life we're in, we've lost. Ernst's mother still kisses him goodnight, Georg's father gives him a weekly allowance of three Marks. Even Moritz's parents cared about him. Who kisses you goodnight, Ilse? The men at the old hippie faire? They don't care about you." Hanschen scoffed and continued, now looking off into the distant trees. "I get greeted with a slap of my cheek every morning, and my father calls me a fag as I walk out the door." He turned back to her. "We lost, my darling Ilse."

Ilse's mouth dropped open in shock. The way he spoke made it sound like he actually cared. Hanschen Rilow. Cared about _her_. The boy who always walked with an air of superiority, the one that many of the girls were afraid of, the one that Ilse had never particularly enjoyed. And somehow it was comforting because all the words he spoke were true, and Ilse knew it. Hanschen looked disappointed and outside of himself.

"So what are we gonna do Hanschen?"

Hanschen reached out to gently tilt Ilse's chin so their eyes met, wide and staring.

"_I _am going to give Melchior a good talking to. _You_, dear Ilse, don't need to do anything at all."


	3. Free Me

Note: I own nothing! And just to let everyone know...I was onstage for SA for the first time a few days ago! It was so amazing... :)

Hanschen had left Ilse silent on the log, and his legs couldn't carry him fast enough. He dare not break into a run, as that would create suspicion. That was the last thing he wanted. His mouth was strained tightly and his face was flushed pink, breath labored and heavy. Luckily, no one glanced out their windows as he passed, no one care to knew where the odd Rilow boy was off to. The edge of the woods were in view as Hanschen scaled the hill, disregarding any length of mud that caused him to slip.

His mind reeled. Questions of why he felt so strongly about Melchior's actions, and what exactly he was planning to do when he found Melchior. Hanschen had never been one to fight physically. Only the boy with the witty tongue and clever sneer, but Hanschen had a feeling his words would not help him in his endeavor. As he entered the threshold of trees, the small blonde unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, balling his hands into fists in fear of an attack from any angle.

A voice groaned to his left. Hanschen screeched to a halt, breath frozen in his lungs. He glanced to the side, and felt his arms tense up.

"Hanschen...Hanschen Rilow."

Hanschen let out a stiff breath and backed up a few steps. He nodded his head to Melchior Gabor, who had pulled himself up against a tree. He pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth, carefully crossing his arms over his chest. He had to push away the look of disgust slowly creeping across his face, and remain stable and characteristically blank.

"Can you--can you come here?" Melchior rubbed his side with one hand, a spot of blood appearing on his white shirt, now stained terribly.

Hanschen observed the other boy carefully, before taking the few steps over to him. It was easy to see the damage up close. Before, Hanschen had only spied Melchior in passing the clearing, laying there. But up close, it was a different story. It was apparent where Ilse had done her damage, as there were muddy shoe marks on his side and groin. It looked like he had hit his head pretty well on whatever he had fallen on. A sense of pride swelled Hanschen, pride for Ilse, that she had done this. He deserved it, Hanschen thought .

"Melchior Gabor. Long time, no see, hm?" Hanschen gained some confidence, he had a slight advantage over the bigger boy.

"Yes, yes, Hanschen. Could you help me?" There was an annoyed tone in Melchior's voice which made Hanschen want to raise his fist right there.

Instead, Hanschen nodded and offered his shoulder for Melchior to lean on. With the weight of Ilse's assailant on him, it was hard to keep his head level and his expressions neutral. He licked his lips cautiously.

"What happened to you?" Hanschen questioned as they hobbled over the twigs and leaves together.

Melchior spat angrily, a look of bitterness plastered on his face.

"That bitch..that little bitch." He shook his head, leaning heavily on Hanschen's shoulder.

Hanschen gritted his teeth and turned his head slowly to look at Melchior.

"And by bitch you mean...Ilse?"

Melchior's head swung in Hanschen's direction, a bewildered expression was returned with a fist as Hanschen dropped his shoulder and swung hard. Melchior rolled to the ground, hitting his bruised side again on the way, making him cry out.

"What was that all about?" His side ignored, Melchior's hands now cradled his cheekbone which Hanshcen had hit square on.

The impact of bone on bone certainly injured Hanschen's hand but his fuming breaths made no indication of the pain. Though his knuckles throbbed, Hanschen threw his hand down again on Melchior's jaw. The broken rebel on the ground jarred as his body was thrown the other way.

"What the _hell_, Hanschen?" Melchior yelled out loudly, too surprised to fight back.

Hanschen kneeled down to whisper fervently, hands still in fists, waiting to strike at any second.

"Ilse _told _me what you did, Gabor. Taking advantage of another girl puts you down as a damn right wanker in my book."

"A wanker?" Melchior cruelly laughed and momentarily forgot his slowly bruising face. "Shall I draw you back to the memories, Hanschen, of the third class?"

The blonde flinched as the memories of embarassment and shame came flooding back to him, his fierce look quickly fading. This egged Melchior on even more.

"Oh yes, Hanschen, third year. Georg opened your desk to borrow some chalk, didn't he?"

"Stop." This was the experience that gave Hanschen his hard skin, the reason his skin prickled whenever another boy rooted through his things, and why his hands used to sweat around Melchior because he was one of the only boys who didn't make fun of him. Now his brow was damp with anger and his forehead prickled as his skin tightened up, the memories of this story were his own personal Hell.

"And instead of chalk Georg pulled out those photographs, yes, Hanschen."

"Stop, Melchior."

"What were they of again? Oh yes, I remember...some from a certain maga--"

"Stop!"

Hanschen lifted his arm again, planning to ram his palm once more into Melchior's face. But something caught his arm on the way down. Melchior's fist closed on Hanschen's small arm and wildly waved his other, trying to make contact. Both boys cried out in surprise, anger and frustration, as both of their plans had backfired humiliatingly. Melchior mustered up the strength to roll over on top of Hanschen who had no choice but to turn his head away and punch blindly with one hand.

"You---" The Rilow boy screamed his words throughout the struggling. "-killed her!" Hanschen made a connection to Melchior's nose as the hand fell from his wrist. "Wendla Bergman! Wendla is _dead_ because of you! Dead, Gabor!"

Melchior stared down at Hanschen with hatred, silent.

"Too much of a bitch to fight back, Gabor?"

With that, Melchior's fist connected with Hanschen's nose and it immediately began to bleed. The smaller blonde boy cried out and pulled his hand to nurse his now bloody nose. In an instant, another balled fist hit Hanschen's temple and his head swung to the side, arms flailed out. His eyes closed and his mouth hung open, a thin line of blood outlining his pink lips.

Melchior dropped his hands and gasped. He lowered his ear to Hanschen's mouth, listening for a faint breath. The light air tickled his ear and Melchior breathed a sigh of relief and rolled off of him, and stiffened as a crunch came from in front of him.

"What's that? Who's there?"

Melchior panicked and stood, the rush to his head making him dizzy and disoriented. A figure stepped timidly from behind the tree and dropped his mouth open at the sight.


	4. Heal Me

The frail, small boy's mouth dropped, but he didn't move. No fear on his face, just concern and curiosity. Melchior fell back against a tree, wiping his hands on the bark.

"What? What happened? What did you do?" Ernst squeaked out a plea. His eyes never leaving the bleeding body lying on the ground. "You hurt him!"

"No…no..I never—I didn't…I.." Melchior breathed deeply, his eyes now back to Hanschen's body and the ground, heart and mind racing with the fear of being caught in this ever-compromising situation.

Ernst timidly moved toward the frighteningly still body on the ground, gulping back air, in fear of turning and being sick all over the forest floor. He had been eagerly awaiting Hanschen's return, and had already been waiting over an hour. At the sound of someone cying out, Ernst ran in fear and heard the sickening crunch of bone on bone. Now he knelt over Hanschen's body, mouth agape at the sight. Blood now trailed down the Rilow boy's chin and the only sign of life was the light tickle of air coming from his nose, which was looking very well compared to his fight partner.

"He's breathing…barely. What did you do to him?" Ernst pleaded with Melchior, the golden boy he had never previously dreamed of having a conversation with.

"He started it…I was hurt already…I was just asking for help." Melchior held his hand to his bleeding nose, now bruised from his head, all the way down to his shin.

"I know Hanschen…he would never just hit someone."

"Well, it seems as though you don't know him nearly as well as you thought you did…because Hanschen did just that…hit me." Melchior cradled his face as his bloodshot eyes looked up just in time to see the diminished look on Ernst's face, almost a look of realization.

"I still think he must have been…provoked in some way, I know—"

Ernst was cut off as more rustling and heavy breathing came from beyond their sight-line in the trees

"Hanschen! Hanschen please, don't—" Ilse tripped into the pathway, landing nearly on top of a severely startled Ernst, who still wore the expression of hurt and surprise. He jumped, nearly re-planting his hand onto Hanschen's broken body, but quickly relocating it at the last second.

Melchior's nostrils flared at the sudden appearance of the root of his problems of the day and rose, forgetting the aches and pains of his tender body. Ernst watched in silence as Melchior stalked over to Ilse, who still layed splayed on the ground, eyes darting between Hanschen and Melchior.

"What did you do?" Ilse squeaked out, her face tear-stained, eyes pleading with her attacker. Instinctively, Ernst shuffled out of the way and up against a tree…he would be useless if anything arose from this situation. "He looks…not…not alive, Melchi." Ilse watched as he came closer to her, his fists balled at his sides, lips tense.

"What did _I_ do? What did _you_ do? You're not as strong as you like to think you are, Ilse." Melchior's lips enunciated every syllable with awful intricacy, his voice becoming more threatening with every word. "You take a cheap shot, run off like a coward…then confide in Hanschen Rilow?" Melchior was once more in Ilse's face, and they both stood their ground in the damp, squishy soil. Ernst straightened his posture and took a step away from the tree in which his back was pressed.

"Move away, Melchior." Ernst stepped up, an arm's length away from where Melchior and Ilse stood, his fists balled, clearly mirroring Melchior's fierce stance. The other two jumped at Ernst's sudden voice, and looked his way, Melchior staring him down. "I said step back." His voice was full of false confidence. "…Please."

Melchior stared at him a second longer before letting out a loud bout of laughter, his eyebrows crunching together in a sign of pity.

"Oh Ernst, Ernst. We go to school together for ten years, and this is the first time you decided to stick up for anyone? All those times Georg made fun of Hanschen…and you decide to stick up for _this?" _He gestured to Ilse, who had not moved an inch. "This whore?" Ernst looked down, pride immediately diminished. "_This_ is not even worth it!" Melchior's eyes were locked on the top of Ernst's head, reveling in his strange power he still had over the schoolboys. While his attention was else-where, Ilse took advantage and raised her right hand, balled into a fist. She swung quick and quiet, but before a connection could be made, Melchior's arm swatted hers out of the way, and his open palm slapped Ilse swiftly across the face. Ernst cried out, speaking for Ilse, who remained silent, nothing but a short breath escaping her lips as the slap jolted her head to the side, even her breathing remained stable as Melchior's rose.

"I'm going to get someone." Ernst turned his back to run, but Melchior lunged forward, wrapping his hand around Ernst's wrist.

"No one-" He jerked his arm back, violently pulling Ernst with it, "-is going anywhere." Melchior wrapped his hand around Ilse's wrist as well, who stood silent and still, avoiding his eyes. "This is just…just a misunderstanding." Melchior's breathing was labored and heavy and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. Without a warning, he dropped both Ilse's and Ernst's wrist and ran in the opposite direction of the town, crunching sickeningly on Hanschen's fingers as he went.

Left in silence, they stood next to each other, Ernst's arm still thrust out like it was being held tightly, Ilse's head still turned slightly to the side.

"We need to get someone." Ernst spoke first and moved to run back to town.

"No." This time Ilse reached and took hold of this arm. "We can't just leave Hanschen here."

The small blonde boy was still sprawled out, momentarily forgotten. But the blood had not stopped trickling from his nose, and his breathing had not gotten stronger. Ernst nodded and turned back to stand over his lover's body. Ilse knelt down and gingerly took Hanschen's hand, now mud-streaked from when Melchior stepped on it making his get-away. With the gentle touch, Hanschen's hand stirred, grasping back only slightly.

"Let me." Ernst knelt on Hanschen's other side, a look of quiet jealousy on his face. He pulled Hanschen's hand into his lap, and it laid still, no twitch of movement or recognition. Expressionless, Ernst laid Hanschen's hand back down onto the ground. He stood with a look of desperation and moved to crouch behind Ilse, his eyes knit together. Ernst reached his hand out to touch Hanschen's shoulder, but Ilse's body got in the way as she leaned to the side, blocking his course. A look of brief surprise crossed her face, then she turned to face Ernst.

"I'll stay here with him..you go find someone to help, alright?" Ilse watched as Ernst gave her a strange look and disappeared into the trees. She turned back to Hanschen's body. "Can you hear me Hanschen? You're okay…you're alright."


End file.
